


The Fire Remains

by orphan_account



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen, Mick Rory isn't dead but things still aren't okay, the canon Snart/Rory "breakup" still happens, they might get there eventually though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6243586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, the problem was that he preferred the sensation of burning to the momentary joy he'd get from betraying them.  Everything that happened after that was accidental.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>OR:  What if the potential for character development outweighed the benefits of character death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“That’s why you recruited me, isn’t it?  To hit, hurt, and burn.”  Mick said, malice deepening with every syllable.

“No. I recruited you because you and your partner were a package deal.”  Rip shot back, trying just as hard and cutting twice as deep.

“What?” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rory, but a serial arsonist was never part of my plan to stop Savage; much less one with the IQ of meat!”  Rip said as he turned, cards finally out on the table where everyone could see them.

  When he spoke again it was a strangled whisper, “I didn’t mean to be so blunt.  If I could just have a moment of quiet then perhaps I could think up a way of getting us off this pirate ship.”

“I think I just beat you to it.” 

 

As he was escorted down winding hallways to the control room of the ship he found himself thinking that these could be his people.  He could so easily betray the crew of the Waverider, betray Snart, and finally get to go home where he wouldn’t have to deal with the bullshit Rip was cramming into his partner’s head, or the nauseatingly well-meaning team of wannabe heroes.

But then again, he thought as he caught a glimpse of white hair and thick rimmed black glasses darting back around a corner, it would be so much more fun to burn. 

 

So he struck his deal with the pirate captain, and agreed to take the beating that would get him his weapon back.  These really must be his people, he found himself thinking again, because they saw the same things in him that Rip did and they trusted him for all the traits Rip despised. 

 

He was still only half sure of his exact plan of action as they were preparing to board the Waverider.  Seventy five percent sure as the door to the airlock slid open.  It wasn’t until the door slid shut behind them, leaving them waiting for the airlock to decompress and the entrance to the Waverider to open that Mick finally knew for certain what he was going to do.

“Surprise,” his face split into a smile as he pulled the heat gun’s trigger, filling the confined space with a blazing fireball.  The pirates were screaming—music to his ears. Naturally, they fired their own weapons at him in a vain attempt to stop the burning, but the pain and panic of being in such a small space with so much heat made their aim clumsy.  He felt a bullet lodge in his shoulder, then another hit his stomach but his own pain was swept aside by the flames.  His laughter crackled.  They were all so lucky! They didn’t know how to appreciate it, but they were.

He was burning too of course.  Again.  He was burning and nothing had ever felt so right. The fire would melt away all his uncertainty and show him who he really was.  It was the only way. 

 

When the door to the Waverider slid open his laughter had dried up, but he was still standing; still burning.

“Son of a bitch,” he heard Raymond whisper.

One of the pirates who hadn’t quite expired yet tried to raise his weapon, so Mick blasted them all again until they were silent, motionless, and perfectly charred.

Someone else was screaming now.  It took him a minute before he could place the voice as Snart’s. His partner sounded younger somehow; or maybe, he found himself thinking as his knees gave out, it had just been a while since he’d last heard fear in Leonard’s voice.

 

* * *

 

 

Disappointment was the first feeling that settled into his chest when he regained consciousness; followed shortly by surprise when he realized that he was, in fact, in the med bay of the Waverider and that he hadn’t been left to rot in a ditch somewhere.

He tried to sit up only to find that he’d been restrained.  It wasn’t like last time.  This wasn’t an ambulance with worn fabric restraints, it was a damn spaceship.

He could feel new burn scars, not quite healed but helped along by whatever futuristic medicine the ship had in stock.  The right side of his jaw had been badly burned, his neck, chest, and any remaining clear skin on his arms were also now a mess of scar tissue. 

“Ah, Mr. Rory, you’re awake.  I’ll alert the captain.”  Gideon’s voice greeted him with its usual tinny air of disinterest.

“Screw the captain.”  He grumbled, pushing past the pain of his dry throat.

“I’m not familiar with that colloquialism,” the AI responded before leaving him to the silence of the empty med bay. 

The silence was soon broken by the growing sound of arguing, Snart and Hunter by his best guess.  Within moments they were entering the med bay, argument not dampened in the slightest by his presence. 

 

“You weren’t there Mr. Snart, you didn’t see the way he was-” Rip was saying when Snart cut him off.

“No, I wasn’t there, I was back here, dying because you walked right into a trap and dragged my partner along with you.”

“He volunteered!”  Rip waved his hands, exasperated.

“And he took out more of those damn pirates than you or anyone else!”  Snart crossed his arms, daring Rip to disagree.

“We could have handled the situation just fine without Mr. Rory nearly getting us all killed and letting us think he’d betrayed us.”

“You only thought that because you don’t trust him.  I do. Everything was under control.”  Snart said and Mick wanted to laugh at how wrong he was.  How wrong he was about everything except Rip not trusting him, his partner didn’t even know the half of that one.

 

“If the two of you have a minute maybe you could un-cuff me.”  Mick cut in before their argument could detour any further. 

“I believe that’s your department,” Snart said to Rip, arms still crossed.  Mick wished Snart would stop sounding so injured on his behalf.  It was going to make what came next much harder. 

The captain hesitated.  Just for a second.  Just long enough that everyone in the room had time to notice. 

“Gideon, I believe Mr. Rory’s restraints are no longer necessary,” Rip said.

“Of course, captain,” the AI responded, and just like that he was free to sit up and glare at the back of Rip’s head as their fearless captain stalked out of the room; which was fine, because he didn’t want or need an audience for what he knew he had to do next. 

 

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Snart huffed, “I knew you had everything under control.”

“That’s it?” Mick asked, “No reprimand for losing my head and setting myself on fire?  Last time I pulled a stunt like that you swore you’d never work with me again.  Cut all ties. Changed the pin number to the account we were using to launder our loot.  What changed, Snart?” 

Leonard stared at him like he’d grown another head, surprise spelled out across his face.  He uncrossed his arms and furrowed his brows as he tried to come up with an answer.  It might have been endearing had things not been so serious.

“This time you had a reason.” Snart said, he was uncertain, and trying to hide it behind his usual deadpan.

“No,” Mick said, “I didn’t.   I did it because I wanted to burn.”

He had known Leonard for too long to miss the signs; it took a lot to get past his icy exterior, but when it happened the red flags were always the same.  The confusion, the sudden lack of eye-contact, and the way his hand instinctively drifted towards his weapon—not to shoot, just for comfort, a final defense against an unfair world.  He’d seen it all before, and usually this was the part where Mick would step in and knock a few teeth loose from whoever put that look on his partner’s face.  But not this time. 

“So if you won’t say it, then I will,” Mick went on, “We’re through.  I’m not your partner anymore, and you’re not mine.  We’re just two people who happen to be on the same ship.”

“So you _are_ staying,” Snart ventured, sarcasm lacking its usual bite.

“Yeah.  But not for you.”  Mick said, brushing past him before Snart could do or say anything to change his mind.  His former partner was changing, adapting again to be successful with a new crowd; it was what Snart had always done, it was why he’d recruited Mick after the meta-humans started emerging, and now he had outgrown him; even if he wasn’t willing to admit it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Alright, so listen to this,” Raymond Palmer plopped himself down in the seat next to Mick, seemingly on a whim, and began talking—fast and enthusiastic—about someone named John Orr.  Mick almost glanced across the room to exchange a look with Snart, but stopped himself—they didn’t do that anymore, they weren’t like that anymore, he was alone in this.  Of course he wasn’t really alone, because everyone seemed to have chosen to kill time in the control room that day, minus their captain of course, who was in his quarters working on the next phase of ‘ _the plan_ ’.

It didn’t escape him that Palmer’s choice for a conversational partner caused a hush to fall over the rest of them.  He had known from the beginning that he wasn’t the most popular person on Rip’s little voyage, but the captain’s confession—that he wasn’t wanted in the slightest—had made him more inclined to notice the way they all turn their noses up at him.  Which was fine.  He didn’t need their damn approval.  It was probably better if they thought he was a dangerous lunatic. 

Palmer, however, seemed to have missed the memo, since he was still going on about… arson, apparently.  Mick turned slightly, to better pay attention and so Raymond had a view of the burned side of his jaw—it never hurt to play the intimidation card, even during what seemed be a casual conversation.

“And he used a cigarette attached to a book of matches wrapped in paper with cotton and bedding secured with a rubber band, which is how he got the nickname.”  Raymond finally stopped his enthusiastic rambling to take a breath.

“The Pillow Pyro,” Mick supplied as the description clicked with something he used to know, “He’s the one they caught in eighty-seven.”  As he said it he couldn’t help but notice that the hum of outside conversations returned to the room.  Apparently they had all decided that he wasn’t going to punch Palmer’s teeth in.  How nice.  He almost wanted to do it anyway, to keep them all on their toes, but Raymond—as always—had more to say, and despite Mick’s reluctance to be a part of this conversation it _was_ of interest to him, which was more than he could say for most of the dull chatter that went on during their voyage. 

“Yeah!”  Raymond said, “And all because of a single fingerprint, that’s crazy, right?  I mean I’m sure you already know about the importance of wearing gloves, what with being a criminal and all, but it was just one print that did him in, what are the odds?”

The loud mention of his criminal background brought the lady-hawk over, concern for Palmer evident in her crossed arms and set frown.

“Ray,” she at least had the decency to try to keep her voice light, “Do you have a sec?  Stein and I need a third opinion on Jax’s proposed upgrade to the jump-ship.” 

“Well we were just…” Palmer began, glancing between Saunders and Mick; the damn boy scout actually looked conflicted.  What an idiot.

“I’m leaving anyway,” Mick said, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.  Saunders swooping in to save Raymond from a conversation he had started.  Raymond not immediately jumping on the out.  But whatever, this wasn’t what he was here for.  So Mick got up and stalked out of the control room, pointedly not looking at Snart and Lance as he passed them.

* * *

“Mick!  Come on, we have to go, now!”  Snart was yelling, even as Sara grabbed his arm and pulled him away, talking low and fast about how they didn’t have time for this.  As it happened, she was so preoccupied with Snart that the assassin failed to stop Jax as he rushed past them towards where Mick was laying down cover fire against the small army Savage hired to kill them. 

For once, Mick heard Snart just fine, even over the roar of the flames and the shouts from the men who were so set on trying to kill them.  He heard his former partner loud and clear and he decided he wasn’t going to listen.  It was different from before.  He was in control.  The urge to burn wasn’t overwhelming. 

“Hey!”  Jax grabbed his free arm, “Come on man, what’re you doin’?” 

“Get off me,” Mick grunted, wrenching his arm from the kid’s grasp and refocusing his attention on the remaining men who still need to be set on fire.

“It’s not worth getting killed over.”  Jax replied, adamant.

“What’s not?”  He asked; in the distance he could hear the old man shouting for Jax to get back on the ship because they need to leave and they need to leave _now_. 

“All that stuff Rip was saying back when we were in that cell.  It doesn’t matter!  Now come on!”  Had Jax said anything else Mick might have ignored him.  He might have let them leave without him.  He might have faced his fiery death at the hands of Savage’s minions.  But the damn kid just _had_ to sound so sincere, like he really might not go back without him.  It was a dirty trick, one Mick could, at the very least, respect.

“Fine,” he snapped, firing a burst of heat at an asshole who had decided to point his weapon at the kid, “Let’s go.” 

 

Upon boarding the Waverider—miraculously bullet hole free—they were met with a stern and irritated looking Professor Stein.  He and the kid got into it immediately, yelling across the room at each other about which of them was more irresponsible, about what sort of behavior was and wasn’t acceptable with regards to the mission. 

The argument then turned to a thinly veiled and crew-wide discussion about acceptable losses versus unacceptable losses, which Mick took as his cue to leave.  He knew for a fact that there was some vodka in the rec room that would be overjoyed to see him.

 

He was five drinks in when the kid poked his head in.

 

“Hey man look, I’m sorry about Gray.  He gets all worried about me and says things he knows he’s gonna’ regret later.  He didn’t mean any of it.”  Jax said, walking into the rec room like he wasn’t afraid to be alone with Mick.  The kid was either really did have a pair on him, or he was just stupid.

“Hmm,” Mick hummed in reply, taking another sip of vodka and hoping the kid would get on with whatever he had to say and leave quickly.  It was much harder to drink alone when there was someone else in the room.

“And just so you know, I meant what I said before.  You’re here and that makes you part of the team—the _why_ doesn’t matter.”  Jax said.

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Mick grumbled, already annoyed, but the alcohol must have dulled the words because they didn’t have any real hint of a threat behind them.

“Yeah, we do.”  The kid walked over and sat down across from him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  Brave and unflinching. 

“I saw you when we were on that ship.” Jax went on, “You had a chance to get us all killed when they had guns pointed at our heads, and you didn’t.  Hell, even when you were freaking out in the cell I thought you were still with us, right up until Rip… Right up until Rip said what he said.” 

“Which part, the part about me being stupid or the part about how he didn’t want me to come along in the first place?”  Mick poured himself another tumbler of vodka and, after a half-second of hesitation, passed the bottle to Jax.  If they were doing this then neither of them would be doing it sober.

“You know which part I’m talkin’ about,” Jax took the bottle, but didn’t drink, “After he went off about just wanting Snart I thought you might leave us and save yourself, but you didn’t.” 

“I wanted to.” Mick admitted, half because he wanted to see how the kid would react and half because he hadn’t had the chance to tell anyone else yet.

“You didn’t though.”  Jax was insistent.

“No, I thought it would be better if I burned along with them.” He drained his drink and eyed the bottle in Jax’s hands, “Not that it worked out.”

“It worked out.”  Jax took a drink from the bottle, looked him dead in the eyes, and got up, taking the vodka with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1x08 actually confirmed my theory that Jax's sense of team extends to Mick, which is kinda' nice.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mr. Palmer, Mr. Rory, why don’t the two of you stay here for the time being?  If we go in with too large a group so soon it may draw unwanted suspicion.”  Rip said, already walking down the hallway towards the exit. 

“Sure, sounds fun!”  Raymond quipped back, smiling at Kendra as she followed their captain.  The rest of them filed out in suit, leaving Ray and Mick standing in the control room.

“I can’t believe he still thinks I need a babysitter.”  Mick grumbled, taking a step towards the control panel. 

“Is that what this is?”  Ray looked genuinely surprised, of course he did, the guy was always genuine, “I just assumed they didn’t need your natural gift for violent crime or my amazing suit and technical knowledge.”  Somehow he managed to make the words ‘ _violent crime_ ’ sound like something positive.  The guy really was a fucking ball of sunshine. 

“The captain doesn’t exactly like my way of doing things.”  Mick said, hoping to end the conversation quickly.  He glanced at the Waverider’s controls, certain that they were locked and useless to him.

“Honestly, neither do I,” Ray said, “You or your partner’s.  But you get results when the rest of us sometimes don’t.  That has to count for something.” 

“You would think.”  Mick huffed, dragging a finger along the edge of the control panel as he began pacing the cold, metal floor of the Waverider. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ray waved his hands, still chipper, still lighthearted, “I think both of you could stand to learn a thing or two from the rest of us.  Like how to behave at parties, or when doing the right thing is crucial and not just a point of moral luxury.” 

“You should talk to Snart,” Mick said, “He’s the one who wants to learn that shit.”

“Which means you’re the one who needs to hear it,” Ray replied, smiling, smiling, always smiling.

 

 

* * *

 

The professor got himself shot while they were in 1892, backtracking once more to try to stay one step ahead.  It hadn’t exactly been an effective strategy so far, but if their _glorious_ captain wanted them to try again, then try they would.  Hopefully, Mick thought as he made his way to his quarters, Stein taking a bullet to the gut would be the wake-up call Rip needed.  Probably not though. 

The professor’s injury left them stuck in the late 19th century for three days, which meant three days sitting around making small talk and trying not to notice the death glares Sara was now openly shooting him. He appreciated her efforts far more than he appreciated Snart’s continued injured sulking.  At least one of them was out for petty revenge. 

On the third day, once they were absolutely sure Stein would live and that they’d be able to resume traveling through time and space, Jax came knocking. 

“Hey, you got a minute?”  He asked.

“No.” Mick replied, placing a card down on one of the rows of his solitaire game.

“Right, well when you’re finished losing to yourself at cards; I was hoping you could teach me how to use a gun.”  Jax took a step closer to get a better look at the layout of the cards.

“Why do you need a gun?  Is bursting into flames and obliterating anyone who gets in your way getting boring?”  Mick flipped another card, then another.

“Nah’, I like being Firestorm and all it’s just… You know, with what happened to Gray, I figure I should know how to defend myself without the superpowers.”  He said.

“Alright,” Mick shrugged as the final card proved to be just as useless as the ones before it, he needed a damn red jack and they were both stuck face down under one of the rows.  “But just so we’re clear this isn’t charity.  You owe me.” 

“That’s cool,” the kid said without any hesitation, “Let me go grab something from the weapons room, and I’ll meet you in that storage space under the kitchen.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I actually prefer Rip Hunter: Overwhelmed Time Dad to Rip Hunter: Total Jackass, but because I decided to stick to Mick's POV I'm afraid all positive outlooks on Rip's character will be between the lines for a while. 
> 
> Also, just for the record, I called it from ep.01 that Mick was going to die. The cast was just too big and any character development for him would take FAR too long for it to be manageable alongside the rest of them. I love this show and I totally understand why this had to happen, but still...


End file.
